Moths to a Flame
by h.lovely
Summary: When Trowa's body finally straightened and his eyes adjusted to the amber lighting and felt the squeeze of Catherine's fingers against his own he saw it. Glowing from within the shadows, ultraviolet. Hidden amongst the circus crowd, a black dressed, long haired, two legged, two eyed reaper... Endless Reflection Challenge


**A/N:** This is a piece written for  Endless Reflection. I love exploring 2x3 interaction and this is a moment from the series (Episode 36) that sticks with me when I think of what that relationship might have been built on. To me, it was sort of a turning point for both characters, even if they didn't realize it at the time perhaps. It is written as a m/m pairing, a little bit of fluff, but not definitively explained, so interpret how you would like. Reviews are always appreciated!

 **Disclaimer:** Gundam Wing is a product of Sunrise & Bandai Entertainment, I do not claim ownership to these characters, only to my own words.

* * *

 **Moths to a Flame**

The bigtop was under-lit by the glowing false flames of lamps scattered over the crowd, hanging down from pillars like torches over the hundreds of faces lining the stadium benches, piled atop one another, vying for the best view of the center ring. The Master in a mahogany tailed coat spinning to greet the crowd with wide teeth and white gloved hands extending to the ceiling above. Red and gold striped silk hovering over beams, draping from the center pole outward before swishing back up to it's next perch. Spot lights swirling as the houselights dim, colors and bodies blurring amidst the shadows and illumination, sweeping up sawdust and dirt beneath their feet, filling the air with that intoxicating scent of old and new together.

It was a thrill he'd learned to almost ignore over the expansive time he'd accompanied the lively troupe of circus folk, acrobats, roustabouts, wild animals, and even wilder people. The wilder the better, laughing in the face of danger. It was _they_ who embodied the circus.

He could not speak too ill of the masses he surrounded himself with, the family he might occasionally identify them as. He was one of these wildlings too. The adrenaline, the fear, the calm- _the_ _flying_. It was all a part of the package.

They kept telling him he'd be done in a few more years, a few more weeks, a few more days. The young ones, the sons and daughters and cousins, the stragglings. But how naive they were to think of him as an old man. Once wild, always wild, never tamed.

Trowa's arms dangled with just enough blood rushing to their fingertips to create the stinging sensation he longed for. His legs clamped against the bar carrying his body through the air, coursing through the cheers and the lights and the dust from below.

When his fingers seized her arms for the midair catch his eyes flicked open to meet her own. They danced and sparkled and he felt the ease of performance flowing through him. They drifted, almost in slow motion and the crowd awed and a silence began to encompass the stands, tense and unsure of what was to come next.

Two more swings timed it down and Catherine was twisting and propelling herself back from whence she came, clutching her own trapeze whisking through the air, up onto the stands with grace and perfection. The crowd was unanimous in their uproar.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over yet again. His bare chest glistened and his muscles tingled with a needy ache, his lungs sucking in breathes that were deep and powerful. Catherine took ahold of his hand and then they were bowing, the motion tossing his bangs up and down against his forehead. One, two, three, hold.

When Trowa's body finally straightened and his eyes adjusted to the amber lighting and felt the squeeze of Catherine's fingers against his own he saw it.

Glowing from within the shadows, ultraviolet. Hidden amongst the circus crowd, a black dressed, long haired, two legged, two eyed reaper. His lips were set in a smirk, quirked as though in preparation to reveal a truly morbid joke.

By the time Trowa had made it from the center ring and out towards the menagerie he was there, waiting. Quick, still decidedly invisible in his ways, though perhaps less thin than the last time they'd met.

"What took you so long?"

There was that smirk again and Trowa remembered vaguely the irony, the memory in his statement. "What are you doing here?" He spoke quietly, not acknowledging the humor in Duo Maxwell's eyes.

His braid twitched when he tilted his head to the side, studying, appraising. His smirk melted into a grim line and Trowa hastened to wonder if he'd ever seen the man so serious.

"If I'm going, you're going- if I have to drag you out of here by your hair." Duo's teeth did not unclench during the entirety of his statement. Trowa had been wrong, it was not seriousness he was witnessing, but determination.

Trowa's eyes flicked to the beast sitting a few paces behind them obscured by meager bars, its paws crossed, tawny eyes narrowed, watching them with lazy disdain. He blinked. "Going where?"

He watched the man's eyes roll and his fists clench for a brief second. There was the boy he remembered from the war, impulsive and caustic; it didn't take much to pull _him_ back out. The maturity of manhood, though becoming in his lean, slightly taller existence, was not something that suited the former Deathscythe pilot.

"You know, the last time I came to see you perform you acted the very same way," Duo bit out, though his tone had moved onto something akin to scathing amusement. "But not this time, Tro. You don't have an 'I've got amnesia' sob story excuse this time."

The smirk was back and looking at it directly caused Trowa to nearly flinch. A coldness snaked its way across his body, his limbs numbing as they rested at his sides heavily, chest still naked and coated with a sheen of sweat that seemed to only worsen the bitter sensation.

"I have already informed Quatre that I am not going to his asinine celebration."

"Asinine? Oh it's way more than asinine, but we're going, whether you like it or not." Duo had moved towards him and had perhaps expected Trowa to back up out of intimidation, but he'd held his ground and so the two were forced to face one another, stubborn with only a few inches between them. He'd spoken decisively in terms of 'we' rather than 'I.'

"Cathy's around here somewhere. I can just get her to throw you out again," Trowa responded, a quirk in his lips to portray that he recalled Duo's earlier memory just as well as if he'd not had amnesia. The way his muscles were freezing over made that all the more abundantly clear.

A noise, something that was reminiscent of a whine, emanated from within Duo's throat. "Come on- everyone else is gonna have someone there, I can't go alone. Heero has Relena, 'Fei's with Sally, Quatre and his new wife- which incidentally how do you feel about her anyways? I haven't met her yet myself-"

Trowa watched as Duo struggled internally to bring himself back up from down the rabbit hole he had so abruptly fallen into. "Duo-"

The braided man shook his head and his eyes seemed to clear. "Please don't call Cathy- just hear me out here."

There was the sudden, undeniable desire for Trowa to clutch fingers to his temple and squeeze his eyes so tightly shut that the image of space would color the inside of his lids.

Trowa could picture him vividly now, the younger version of braided death, so disarmed and concerned and out of character amidst the kaleidoscope backdrop of circus tents and costumes. He was the first to find him, the first of them to speak to him as _himself_ \- not a sad clown, not Catherine's brother, not just another casualty of war. He might not have realized it then, but that day Duo had pulled him from the wreckage.

"That's what I did last time- hear you out- isn't it?" Trowa responded quietly, staring down into the familiar face, now marred with scruff and a few lines creeping from the corners of his eyes. He wondered vaguely if he had some of his own lines; he wasn't one to look in the mirror too often for fear of what he might find there.

Duo stepped back, having just realized their apparent proximity. He looked down, playing with a tuft of grass beneath his booted toes. "Sure. Took Quat groveling at your feet to finally knock some sense into you though," he muttered to no one other than himself.

Trowa had the urge to laugh, Duo had always had a way of bringing about that response in him, especially when it seemed least appropriate. The image of a teary eyed Quatre Winner only worsened the need for some sort of release, as depraved as that made him feel. They'd all been so young and naive and stupid- when it came to things other than fighting he supposed. Times had certainly changed, but perhaps not as much as he'd always thought.

He appeased the muscles in his belly with a soft chuckle that rumbled from his throat. The cold shiver beneath his skin began to thaw. "How many years has it been?"

He watched Duo quirk a brow, the fingers of his right hand grabbing at his braid. It was shorter than when they'd been teenagers, trimmed just enough to hover above the hem of his jeans. Pulling it forward the man inspected the tufted end with clinical precision. "Since Cathy's wrath? Since the Eve Wars? Or since you and I?"

At that Trowa actually managed a smile that Duo managed to catch for about two seconds. "The fifteen-year anniversary of 'peacetime and brotherhood.' That's what we're supposed to be celebrating on L4, am I correct?"

"Five, ten, fifteen years. Doesn't make much difference to me anymore. Never really was good at keeping track of time." Duo's lips pulled together in a tight line, but his eyes glowed with something more. The eyes of a reaper.

Trowa's head shook. "No you weren't."

Duo's teeth bit at his lower lip absently. "Look, sorry, I didn't mean to bring up- well, the past and all. I know as well as the next guy that old memories can- _burn_."

At the thought Trowa's eyes closed and he allowed himself to rid his body entirely of the attack. The remembrance he'd been forced to nearly relive a few moments before, gone in an instant. He wasn't certain which 'past' Duo was referring to, but both seemed worthy of an apology, though neither warranted one. Trowa was secure enough in himself to realize that much. They all had past wounds that could be reopened at any given time, all of them, no matter how much they might pretend not to. Fifteen years didn't make much difference.

Trowa's eyes peeled open and he expected to find Duo wringing hands over his own exaggerated concern, but the other man had apparently already accepted the silent affirmation of his awkward apology and had moved onto more pressing issues.

Duo's hands were at his hips, showing off the faint line of milky skin, midriff between black jeans and black shirt. "So- how about it?" he said. "Wanna celebrate the asinine hypocrisy of 'Victory Day'- _together?_ "

Trowa sucked in a deep breath through his nose, holding it for a silent moment, eyes piercing over Duo's body, before letting it out with a hiss of his mouth. He turned on his heel and headed in the direction of the bigtop.

He could hear Duo's feet padding along behind him. "I kinda need an answer here, Tro. Gotta be a good little boy and RSVP and all."

His voice was edged with worry and the thought almost had Trowa letting him stew a moment longer. Almost.

"I've got to find something to wear," Trowa grumbled, his eyes turning to meet Duo's over his shoulder. "Otherwise I will never hear the end of it from Quatre."

Duo's lips twitched into a wide grin and then he was laughing, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. A raucous sound that Trowa remembered liking.

The man held his stomach as he finally found a stride next to his taller compatriot. "Idiot," he gasped out, shaking his head.

"It's been 756 days, by the way," Trowa mumbled, sticking hands in his pockets as they walked.

Duo, having finally composed himself enough, stuck the man in the side with his elbow. "Gee, didn't know you cared so much," he drawled, eyes drifting to the ground beneath their ambling feet. "I'll have to remember not to stay away for so long next time."

They walked in silence then, Trowa suppressing the urge to drape an arm across the other man's shoulders, to remember the way his silken hair felt when rubbed between his fingers. He'd almost let himself forget how much of a wildling Duo Maxwell was in his own right.

The bigtop still glowed as they walked back towards its gleaming, fabric walls, the light pulling them closer, intoxicating their vision, drawing them in as it did the masses on Earth and in the colonies alike. He felt Duo's shoulder bump against his own and pretended not to notice the slip, but then they collided again. Duo leaned into his bicep and looked up at him. Trowa smiled down, relishing the contact.

"Think Cathy will let me play with her throwing knives this time?" Duo said, his voice soft, but his eyes wide and pleading.

Trowa brought his hand up and pushed the other man to the side mid-stride, trying to hide his smirk. "She can still throw you out you know," he warned pointedly.

Duo rebalanced himself and his eyes rolled, but their bodies somehow drifted back to one another, effortless. "Yeah, yeah, I remember- and I'm not about to mess with Catherine Bloom or her _baby brother_ ever again."

The braided man had managed a second's head start before Trowa's muscles flew forward in pursuit, ready to tackle him to the ground, lips pulled back letting his incredulous laughter finally flow freely.

Once wild, always wild, never tamed.


End file.
